


June 21st, 1900

by GarlicBreadforNewsies (GarlicBreadforJuliusCaesar)



Category: Newsies!: the Musical - Fierstein/Menken
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Jack Kelly, Canon Era, First Kiss, Historical Accuracy, Love Confessions, M/M, No Period-Typical Homophobia, One Shot, Summer Solstice, javid - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-09
Updated: 2020-06-09
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:07:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24621340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GarlicBreadforJuliusCaesar/pseuds/GarlicBreadforNewsies
Summary: Jack’s in love with one of his best friends. He’s pretty sure nothing will ever come of it. So much can change in a day.Sun up ‘til sundown on the longest day of the year.
Relationships: David Jacobs/Jack Kelly
Comments: 11
Kudos: 64





	June 21st, 1900

The evening slipped down behind the buildings of Manhattan like a well-worn sock into a boot after hours of walking. The sun, caught somewhere between the sweltering heat of the afternoon and the lighting of lamps, washed the streets with a soft glow that lit abandoned papers in the gutters. Following a long-familiar route, weary feet carried Jack back towards the circulation gate.

As he rounded the final corner, he found himself reflecting on his day. He hesitated to think of it as a bad day, because, in truth, it hadn’t been _bad_ at all. Sighing, he made a mental correction; it had been a _long_ day, one that followed long days and weeks before it. But, today was the longest of them all.

He had grown used to rising with the sun. He saw more sunrises than he had hot meals, often times walking the streets washed in the pale pink light of morning. From his penthouse in the sky, he had grown attuned to changing light of early morning, waking exactly when he needed to. Every day. Without fail. Until today.

The sun rose early that morning, too early. He rubbed his eyes and blinked up at the lightening sky with the distinct feeling of being ahead of himself. He rooted around in his shoulder bag, pulling his bust-up watch from within. _Four twenty-eight._ Far too early, but you couldn’t tell the sun that. And try as he might, he couldn’t get back to sleep. He tossed and turned, stuck inside his head. His mind wandered to a certain young man, one sleeping in the lodge house just below him, one who’d been occupying his thoughts for weeks.

Davey was nice. Real nice, and sweet as honey. The kind of guy who just went out of his way to be good to people. The one who always knew something was wrong, and the one to try and fix it. Jack thought he might even be one of the few good men left in the world. And on top of that, he was smart. Educated, more than all the other newsies put together, but not obnoxious. He used long, interesting words without sounding like he wanted you to know he knew them. Just as if that was how his mind worked. And his eyes, well, Jack wished he could just look at them for the rest of his _life_. Deep, cocoa brown, they reflected the light like it shined from within him.

And Jack was totally gone on him. Absolutely smitten. He just can’t have him. And that’s too bad. Because he thinks that Davey’s probably totally heterosexual, probably got his eyes on a middle-class girl with curves and curls and rich family. And even if he was a little bit into men, he’d never want Jack.

Jack was flirty and self-serving. He and Davey were different. It didn’t matter that opposites attract, because even if he did like him back, there was still one problem. The asexuality thing. The bit where Jack found the whole having-sex-thing repulsive. Sure, he could look at Davey and see how someone would want to see and feel and know all of him, he just didn’t want to do it in that way. So, no, they couldn’t work. Wouldn’t work.

He let his schoolboy crush occupy his mind until he heard the rest of the lodge house stirring.

The rest of the newsies were up, yawning, stretching, itching for the headline.

And, well, theheadline was good. Scratch that, it was a hanging headline. _AMERICANS IN PEKING MASSACRED - MINISTER CONGER AMONG THE SLAIN._ A strong, bloody headline, a patriotic scandal above the fold. You could smell the excitement as the newsies pressed against the gates. Jack was even grinning as he approached Weasel’s stand, going bold and getting an extra fifty papers, convinced he could sell them.

And so started the busiest day of his whole sad life. There had never been a bigger headline, not in the history of The World. He sold ten papers before he even made it out of Newsie Square, twenty on the next block. The people of Manhattan were frantic and desperate for the news. He’d barely called the headline before he’d been mobbed with pennies and dimes from all sides.

_We couldn’t sell more if we were giving ‘em away!_

By midday, Jack was running out of papers. Counting his bag, he came up with six. Taking his chances, he took off in a sprint towards the circulation gate, nearly running square into one of the Delancey brothers.

“Got any more papes?” He panted.

The Delancey just smirked. “Why’s you in such a hurry?”

Jack pushed past him as he saw Weasel, loading two bundles of newspapers back onto the cart. He waved his arms wildly at the man, trying to catch his attention. Once acknowledged, he sprinted over at full speed.

“Mr. Wiesel!”

The man looked him up and down. His moustache twitched as he raised an eyebrow at the boy. “You kids never call me that. What’re you playing at?”

“I need some more papes!” He brandished a handful of dimes.

Weasel looked sceptical, “You think you can sell that many?”

Nonetheless, he handed them over. Jack shot him a rare, grateful grin. He pressed them gratefully into the bag.

“They’ll hardly make it off the block, I swear.”

And he was right. Each street offered at least one sucker with a penny and an education who wanted the scoop. Even if there wasn’t, all he had to do was crack a pleasant smile and read them the headline to change that.

Somewhere in the middle of his third bundle, he ran into Davey. He smiled wide as he could as he told Jack that he’d never sold so many papers.

“I’m almost out!” He had beamed.

Jack urged him to run to Mr. Wiesel and get some more. With a glint in his eye, Davey did. And Jack couldn’t help himself, watched him go. Watched those wide shoulders bouncing as he jogged, his perfectly parted hair catching in the light of midday as he went. Jack wished that just once, Davey would run into his arms like that.

He thinks he might have lost some sales simply by following his love with his eyes, but he can’t know for sure. He didn’t know much anything else at all when he was watching Davey. Still, when he finally dragged his eyes away as Davey turned off the block, he had two people waiting to get the paper.

Snapping out of it, he reminds himself that he’s got a job to do. If he ain’t hawking papes, he ain’t getting paid, and it’ll be a cold day in hell before Weasel buys a whole bundle back off of him. Shaking his thoughts free, he doubled down on selling, walking through the streets with purpose.

It’s hot, so hot that there are people buying the paper just to read the weather forecast, bypassing the front page story all together. Jack can feel the brim of his had becoming a gathering place for warmth, staying damp and sticky as he travels from block to block. His face is red, warm, droplets gathering on his lip as he goes. The papers are heavy, and that doesn’t help the heat. He’s getting tired, and tired means its harder to smile, which means its harder to sell. And he had more papes than ever, so he’d better get his act together.

By mid-afternoon, he was down to his last twenty papes. These were always hardest to sell: almost everyone had heard the news, either from buying the edition in the morning or hearing it from someone at work. Still, some folks were still approaching him.

This was good _and_ bad. Good in the way that he’d made an extra day’s wages at least, and that circulation was up. But bad in the sense that Jack hadn’t had even a second to sit down. And no time to sit down also meant no time to do up the political cartoon that Mr. Pulitzer wanted for tomorrow’s edition. He knew he’d be rushing to get it on the man’s desk as it was, but he couldn’t risk losing the sale on the papers.

So, he walked six blocks out of his usual precinct, sweet talking every New Yorker he passed, hawking his lot, hoping for a taker. Feet aching, throat burning, he continued to offer today’s story to anyone who’d listen. As the afternoon dwindled on, no one seemed inclined.

As the church bells rang out six o’clock, Jack decided to call it quits. He had to get back to the World in a half-hour, and he still hadn’t done the sketch. With three papers left in his bag, heslumped back towards the gate.

That was where he found himself, dragging his tired limbs towards Mr. Wiesel’s counter once more. Three papers wouldn’t get him back an even amount, but he supposed he’d live with the loss of three-tenths of a penny.

He was just fixing the distributor with a wry smile, ready to try and convince him to round that penny up to two, when Race can surging through the gates.

“Jack!” He called, “Wait! Can I take those?”

He was pointing to the last three papers that Jack was holding.

“For what?” He asked dumbly.

“The boys’ college has just let out, and there’s these four guys who is always coming to me for the pape,” He smiled, reaching into his bag and pulling out a lone edition, “And I only got one left.”

Jack looked impressed. _Guess we all made ourselves a killing today._

“Whaddaya say, Jack?” Race pressed, “Can I take ‘em?”

He tossed them into the waiting hands of the young man. Race was out the gate and hightailing it for the boys’ college before you could say _‘extra, extra.’_

He turned back to Mr. Wiesel, shrugging. “Guess I’ll have to take your money off ya tomorrow, Weasel.”

“Or,” offered Mr. Wiesel, the glint of a deal in his eye, “I could give you a penny now just for taking this note up to Pulitzer.”

And from his pocket, he produced a slip of paper, scribbled with the circulation numbers from the day. It seemed to at least double their usual takings, and that was only at first glance. Jack, being pretty slow with numbers, assumed it was probably highly than that still.

“I’d be happy ta, Weasel,” grinned Jack, before sticking him with a curious stare, “but I don’t know why you’d wanna give up an opportunity like this to show Mr. Pulitzer what a valuable employee you are.”

“That’s the thing, Kelly. If tomorrow they didn’t sell like today, I’d prefer not see his reaction.” He gestured to Jack. “So if you take the numbers today, then it ain’t weird if I send you tomorrow.”

Jack nodded, “You’ve got a head for business, Weasel.”

“Thank you-”

“-and a face for radio.”

Mr. Wiesel sighed, “There it is. Get out of here, Kelly.”

He did, settling down on the pavement outside the World, finally drawing the cartoon. Now, he knew it wasn’t his best work, not even a good piece about politics. But, he supposed that no one really cared about the state affairs at the moment, what with election season. It would be good enough to scrape by. He went up to Mr. Pulitzer’s office, ready to hand in his sketch and the numbers and be on his way. Life had other plans.

As he knocked on Mr. Pulitzer’s door, there was no reply. With no secretary to stop him, he opened it, barrelling into the office to find Mr. Pulitzer on the telephone. The man looked unimpressed, staring Jack down for his audacity. Unable to think of anything else to do, Jack stood in the doorway.

Clearly, this was the wrong move. He was gestured in, to which he tried to replace his usual cocky smile on his face, only just succeeding. He slumped down in one of the big, comfortable chairs along to wall and tried hard not to fall asleep.

Mr. Pulitzer talked on the phone for a long time, getting heated with the person on the other end. If Jack had been any less tired or desperate to get back to the lodge house, he might have eavesdropped, but the quiet murmuring was enough to put him nearly to sleep. He drifted just on the cusp of consciousness until he heard his boss hang up the phone.

“I suppose you’ve brought the illustration for tomorrow’s edition?”

“Yeah,” he stood, to fumble through his bag for the paper, “and the numbers from Weasel.”

Pulitzer took a moment to look over both, a crease appearing on his brow. Jack couldn’t look away, nor could he place the look on the man’s face. It seemed to be tired and angry, but almost happy about it. When he looked up from the paper, he seemed to be experiencing the closest thing to guilt of which he was capable.

“Jack, I want you to make me another comic.”

Jack felt his stomach clench, defeated. He’d never been asked to try again, but he supposed he’d always done better work than this.

“I know it wasn’t my best work, but-”

“-let me explain, Mr. Kelly.” He gestured the chair Jack had been sitting in.

He sat.

“I’ve just gotten off the line with a source. Tomorrow, it will be announced that Governor Roosevelt will be nominated to run for President of the United States. I need to you to give me something that shows him in a positive light, but with your cynical overtones. I’ll pay you extra for it, but I need it now.”

Jack smiled to himself. _President Roosevelt, who’da thought I’d see the day._

“You got some paper I can borrow?”

He sketched out a rough idea within minutes, passing it over for inspection. Mr. Pulitzer approved it, and he set to work on the line work as the other man complained about the editorial he had to write. A piece about Roosevelt, something that didn’t contain his usual disdain for the man that may become president. He was nearly finished shading in the edges, watching Pulitzer pull another piece of paper from the typewriter and crumble it into the wastebasket.

“I haven’t a nice word to say about the Governor, Jack. If I can’t find something, I’ll be the only paper in town to miss the story.” He sighed, “In short, I hope you’ve liked working for me. It’s a shame it cut it short.”

Jack couldn’t help but pity him, even with the humour. He knew how the man felt for Roosevelt. Glancing at the clock, he felt his spirits dip. If he stayed to help, he would miss dinner with the boys, but if he left, he’d leave his poor boss to suffer through a piece that could make or break his paper.

“Okay, Joe, let’s try this.” He stood up, pacing to get his brain running, “‘New York’s own Governor Roosevelt is uh, expanding his horizons.’ He’s done, um, great things like, um, well, what’s he done?”

“Lots of things, Jack, and not all of them good.”

“Well, just pick some good ones and list them. Call ‘em ‘Roosevelt’s Great Deeds,’ or something, and then say ‘and now he’s trying his hand at doing great things fo’ the whole of America. Roosevelt is a prime candidate for the Presidentship of the United States.’”

Jack paced and thought, occasionally offering another line or two, until between them they’d written a new article better than Jack could remember reading. It sounded positive and encouraging, praised Roosevelt’s achievements whilst modestly addressing his flaws, and making it seem as though he was a sure thing for President.

“Son, I don’t think I’ve met a better political writer in all my life.”

“Aw, shucks, Mr. Pulitzer,” Jack brushed him off, “you’ll make me blush.”

“No, really,” he said, “This is some good stuff. How about we say its an ‘editorial by Jack Kelly, edited by Joseph Pulitzer.’”

He was speechless, but only for a moment, “You’d wanna put my name on the pape? For sure?”

“For sure.” He sounded crusty and educated, the phrase grating against his manner, but it was funny and comforting.

They smiled, and shook hands, and then the mood broke as he was dismissed so that the revisions could be sent down to the printers before the deadline. Jack should have just left, should’ve turned to leave. But he didn’t. You see, weird as it seemed, Mr. Pulitzer was the closest thing he’d had to a father figure in a long time. Someone older and wiser that he could talk to - well, kinda, at least. And he needed to talk to someone about Davey. About his whole weird thing.

“Hey, ah, Mr. Pulitzer?” He croaked, before he could stop himself.

“Yes?”

He couldn’t do it.

“I hope circulation is up again tomorrow.”

“So do I.”

He tried to run out of the office, take off fast, back to his penthouse and away from his day.

“Jack?”

Mr. Pulitzer called after him. _Rats. Not fast enough._ He doubled back, hanging in the doorway.

“I know that wasn’t what you were going to say.”

Jack swallowed his tongue and his pride all in one, “Ah.”

“Is it about a girl?” Mr. Pulitzer asked.

_Not exactly, but how do ya explain that one?_

“No?”

Mr. Pulitzer smiled, “Try to sound more convinced next time. If you want to talk, then come, sit.”

Jack sloped back into the room, taking a seat in the chair he’d just left. Somehow, this felt more awkward and intimate than most anything he’d down in his life. He wanted to leave, to bolt, but he was here now. Seize the day and all the garbage.

“There’s this thing. I’ve got this thing.”

He couldn’t find the words. So much to say but no way to say it. Mr. Pulitzer gave him a coaxing look, a little twirl of the hand to encourage him. He broke out into a nervous giggle. Still, he couldn’t say it.

“I have this problem,” Jack said. He stopped.

“And it’s not a girl.”

“No.” said Jack.

“Not a girl. Alright. It’s not money, judging by the figures. It can’t be family - no offence, just an observation.” Mr. Pulitzer thought for a moment. “Is it a boy?”

“Uh, uh, yeah,” Jack ceded, “‘S a boy. Man.”

“And he’s giving you a problem?”

“Yes. No, um,” Jack sighed, “He’s a problem. No! He’s my problem, or I have a problem with him.”

_How do I say this?_

“Take your time.” said Mr. Pulitzer, sardonically.

“I s’pose it’s more of me giving me a problem about him, because I’m sort of, well I’m, it’s just that I’m-”

“- You can say you’re a homosexual, Jack.” Mr. Pulitzer interjected.

“Yeah, that’s - wait, how’d ya know?”

“Simple. You had a chance with my daughter and you didn’t take it,” Mr. Pulitzer grinned, “There’s only one reasonable explanation.”

They laughed.

“I s’pose you’re right,” he nodded. “You’ve got a beautiful daughter.”

“But that’s not why we are here now, is it?”

Jack shook his head.

“Go on.”

Jack scuffed the carpet with his life feet, suddenly caught up in his mind. _How do you explain that you’s smitten for one of your best pals?_ Before he knew it, he was talking, saying anything and everything that came to mind.

“There’s this guy. One’a the newsies, and my best friend, save fo’ Crutchie, but he’s more of a brother than anything. Anyway, this guy is sorta new, and different to all the other guys. Like, I didn’t grow up with him, and he feels like he’s from a whole different place. He’s just not the kind you’d pick to be a newsie, ‘cept he says he enjoys it, which is nuts cause he had a whole education and he could do anything with his life and what he wants to do is sell papes?

“Anyway, I sorta found myself starting to fall in love with him a little? I mean, look at the guy, ‘s hard not to. He’s got the girls falling all over him, and of course he does, with his sweet talking and his smile, no wonder. And when youse got all the ladies falling for ya, who’d stop to think of a scrappy newsie with no education. I know he’s outta my league, but I just can’t stop thinking ‘bout him.”

Finally, stopping to take a breath, Jack shrugged.

“What’s a guy to do?”

Mr. Pulitzer nodding, contemplating all that he’d been told. “It’s that David boy, isn’t it?”

“That obvious, huh?”

“Yes. No matter, that’s unimportant,” Mr. Pulitzer continued, “Jack, if you’ll forgive me a metaphor. _You_ are an excellent artist.”

He shuffled his notes around, until he found the picture Jack had drawn that first night with Katherine. He held it out for the boy to look at.

“See this, you can take something you see and make a replica of it on paper, and people know who you’ve drawn. But if I try it,” He began scribbling away on a spare piece of paper, “it does not come out quite the same.”

He handed Jack his masterpiece. It was a crude stick figure, with some attempt at facial features, and a scribbling of the curls where the hair should be. There were a few scattered lines, clearly an attempt at something less basic. Jack assumed it was Katherine, only from context clues.

“So, you see. If I saw your art, I’d think I would never be good enough. Are you following?”

“Yes.” _No._

“You may think that David is the most spectacular man to walk to the streets of Manhattan, and that he is so much better than you will ever be, but that is because you see in him qualities you do not see in yourself. Imagine that you are David, seeing _Jack Kelly_ , leader of the Children’s Crusade, published artist and now writer for the World, leader of the Manhattan newsboys. He maybe even think that _you_ are out of _his_ league.”

“Ha, yeah right, Mr. Pulitzer.” Jack mocked.

“Trust me, Jack. Talk to him. You may be surprised what you hear.”

“I’ll think about it.” Jack stood to leave. “Thanks, Joe.”

“Anytime, Mr. Kelly.” They shook hands. “Now, run on home before it gets dark.”

Jack thought about their talk to whole walk home. He wasn’t sure if he would talk to Davey, at least not today. But, maybe Mr. Pulitzer might be right; he couldn’t know unless he tried. Still, he hadn’t told Pulitzer about the whole ‘sex-is-repulsive-and-I-don’t-ever-want-to-have-it’ thing, so even if Davey did like him back, it couldn’t work.

Even if he wasn’t ready to ask, he couldn’t wait to see Davey, to finally get home.

However, all these thoughts were pushed from his mind as he stepped through the doors to the lodge house. He was suddenly assaulted by the noise of tens of rowdy teenagers. The day had been so long, so wild, that everyone was riled up. He was pressed against on all sides, flooded by arms and eyes and limbs all around him. It was too loud.

He pushes through the crowd of newsies, each of them bragging about how much money they had made, flicking dimes and quarters around. If he weren’t so tired, Jack might have found it endearing. Too bad he wasn’t feeling himself. Shoulders dropped, he closed his eyes and pushed through until he made it to the stairs. He loved his family, but he needed to be alone.

The sun was still burning over the city when he lay down on the roof. He could see the first hints of sunset brushing the sky. It had gone past seven, the sun should have set, but it was clinging on. It kept Jack trapped in the day, tired and overworked, but pressing on through the evening. He still had to round the rest of the lodge house up for bedtime; there were still two days left in their work week, and if they didn’t settle they’d be too tired to do it all again tomorrow.

He closed his eyes, cheek pressed into the cool metal of the fire escape, listening to the muffled chattering below. He was glad they were happy, _he was_. It had been a long day. He craved a quiet evening. One with a cool breeze, and Davey in his arms under the pale moonlight.

He had just dismissed that last thought as ludicrous when he heard a noise from the fire escape. A tuft of soft brunet hair appeared, followed by his favourite eyes. Davey was climbing the fire escape. His face ached with concern.

_Think’a the devil._

“Hey, Jackie.” Whispered Davey, hauling himself up onto the roof.

“Hi.”

“I brought you some dinner.” He held up a small tin cup, probably containing some broth, and a chunk of bread. “I thought you might be hungry, but you didn’t make it back in time to eat with the rest of the boys.”

Jack took the soup gratefully. It was warm. He sat, just holding it, feeling hungry but too tired to eat. Davey noticed the silence, and Jack’s lack of appetite.

“And you didn’t stop by the kitchen on your way up.” He stated. “Nor did you celebrate with the boys.”

Jack shrugged, curling around his soup. Davey was fishing for answers, which Jack supposed he was entitled to do. _I am being weird, he was bound ta catch on._

“Are you feeling alright? It was a very hot day.” Davey pressed a cold hand to his forehead. Jack had to stop himself from leaning into it.

“‘M fine, Dave.” He shifted away, trying to create some distance once more. Not because he wanted to, just because he knew he couldn’t trust his tired mind to hold it together and not confess his feelings if he stayed all pressed up against him. “‘S been a long day, is all.”

“Well, it is the longest day of the year, what with being the summer solstice.”

“For real?”

Davey nodded.

“I never knew that there was a whole day longer than all the others.”

“Always happens around this time.” Said Davey, “The sun rises early, and sets late. The opposite happens in December.”

“Have ya told Crutchie? He likes that sorta thing.”

Davey nodded again.

They sit in calm silence together, watching the sky slowly start to turn. Jack stirred his soup, trying to think of something to say. He couldn’t. Luckily, Davey was a good talker, so after a minute he began rambling about how many papers he had sold.

Jack closed his eyes, leant back against the railing, and listened. Let the words wash over him. He soaked in the smooth, sweet baritone. He loved Davey’s voice, with its clipped accent and soft consonants. It was so different to his own. When Davey talked, he always sounded important. Educated, meant to be listened to. Jack loved it, wanted to keep listening forever.

Talk faded away for a moment. It took him a beat to realise that Davey had asked him a question and he’d not answered.

“Uh, um, what’d you say?”

Davey stuck him with a look. “I asked how many papers you sold.”

“Oh, ah, like two hundred or something.” Jack nodded. “Good day. And we sold, like, double our usual all together.”

Davey gave him a questioning look, seeming to wonder how Jack would know that,

“Weasel got me to take the numbers up to Pulitzer.”

Davey nodded, “Is that what kept you?”

“Yeah.” Jack sipped his soup. “Kinda. Pulitzer needed another drawing.”

He explained the development to Davey, about how he had to draw the Governor becoming the President, and how he thought the papers might sell even better tomorrow because of the announcement. He almost forgot to tell him about the editorial, but caught himself at the last minute.

“I also helped him write the article about him,” Jack smirked, “It’s gonna have my name on it and everything.”

Davey laughed at that, “Look at you, Jack Kelly! Newspaper penciller _and_ journalist!”

He knocked Jack with his shoulder. It made Jack laugh for a second, until he remembered his conversation with Mr. Pulitzer. He knew he’d have to talk to Davey eventually, he just didn’t know how. Davey, as always, noted the change.

“Hey,” he coaxed, “What’s got you so upset tonight? It’s not like you.”

Jack sighed, “‘S nothing.”

“Jack.” He scolded.

“Really, its nothing.”

Davey raised a mocking eyebrow. “You are a worse liar than Les.”

“Hey!”

“It’s true, Jack,” Davey smiled, “Come on. Talk to me?”

Jack began to crack. He hated avoiding Davey, wanted to talk to him more than anything. He was just scared. Scared to death of losing the best thing that ever happened to him. He drained his cup, feeling the last ounce of warm liquid comfort something within him. Fixing his eyes on Davey, he steeled himself.

“I gotta talk to you.” He croaked. _This felt like a much better idea in my head._

“What is it, Jack?” When he didn’t answer, Davey put a hand on his shoulder, getting right up close to him. “You can talk to me about anything.”

Jack tried to give him a mirthless chuckle, but his nerves were too shot for that. He ended up letting out a high giggle. He sounded completely hysterical, but Davey laughed with him.

“I, uh, I’ve got a problem,” Jack started, “I’m sorta into guys?”

He paused for breath, trying to sort his thoughts into a cohesive sentence. However, in his break to think, Davey came to the conclusion that he had reached his point.

“Do you honestly think I’m dumb enough to not know that already?” Davey deadpanned. He gave Jack an almost confused look, launching into a speech. “That doesn’t bother me, Jack, you have to know that! Half the guys here are like that-

“-Davey, shut ya mouth.”

His jaw clicked comically.

“I know you know that already, it’s just that it’s more than that.”

Davey looked intrigued, “You got a boyfriend or something?”

Jack swayed his hands back and forth, trying to find a way to say it, “Or something.”

He dropped his head, taking a moment to breathe. This was hard, too hard. He just wanted it to be over with and know how Davey felt about it, and if their friendship could survive Jack’s weird thing. But it was hard. He knew Davey wouldn’t judge him, but he didn’t know how he would respond. He’d never been good with uncertainty.

“I’m kinda falling in love with you, Davey,” he whispered.

Davey looked like he was going to speak. Jack cut him off.

“But I know you don’t swing that way, and even if ya did, I’m no good for you. I don’t want things to change, I just can’t hide it. I’m gone on ya, Dave.”

He took a second to steady himself before meeting Davey’s eyes. For some indiscernible reason, Davey was smiling.

“What?” Jack whispered, concerned he’d missed something.

“Jack, I _do_ swing that way.”

“Ya do?” He tried not to get hopeful, because beyond even that, there was still his thing.

“I do.” Davey reached out for his hand. “There’s nothing to stop us from trying this, right?”

Butterflies in his stomach, Jack had to make himself pull his hand away from Davey’s. He was warm and soft and there. But he couldn’t. Shaking his head, he sighed.

“No, Davey, you don’t get. I’m no good for you.”

Davey looked frustrated, “Why not, Jack. ‘Cause you’re a guy?”

“You wouldn’t understand.” Jack stood up, prepared to make an escape down the fire escape, or possibly to the pavement below, he hadn’t decided.

Davey caught his arm in a firm grip. It wasn’t painful, or angry. Just concerned. And like everything Davey did, it drove Jack mad. He had to stop himself from wondering what that sort of grip would feel like on the back of his neck as they kissed.

_Not helping._

“Try me.” He demanded defiantly.

Jack blushed, a soft, shameful pink. He felt about two feet tall, and wished to melt into the gutter to be swept away with the rest of the garbage. In the lowest, most timid voice he could imagine, he spoke.

“‘M asexual.”

And if Davey had been any further away, he might have missed the hint of a sob that followed it. But he was close, right behind Jack, body heat mixing as the sun began to set.

“Jack Kelly, do you honestly believe a little thing like would make me stop loving you?”

It took Jack a moment to comprehend that. Davey didn’t hate him, hadn’t pulled away, hadn’t told him there was no such thing. He had even said, hold on -

“Stop loving me?” Jack asked, wrapping his head around the sentiment.

“You heard me.” Davey smiled.

_To stop loving someone, you have to have started loving them._

“You love me?”

Davey wrapped an arm around his shoulders, drawing him around until they were chest to chest. Jack felt small, but safe. Davey felt like home.

“I do.” Davey grinned like the cat who got the cream. “And I don’t care if you don’t want to have sex. I’ve never had it, so as far as I’m concerned, I haven’t missed anything. Besides, I think I’d much rather just kiss you, if that’s something you’d like.”

“Sure is.” Jack smiled, leaning forward a fraction of an inch.

Davey took the cue. Smiling one last time, he placed a hand on Jack’s jaw, softly as he could, trying not to break the spell. Jack’s stomach flipped. He’d never been treated so sweetly before in all his life. Davey’s palm was warm, soaking in the last light of sunset. His hand felt like the beginning of a summer romance, a beautiful and dangerous thing to be seized and protected.

His other hand found Jacks, interlacing their fingers. Their palms met; Jack’s, calloused and worn from a life of hard work, contrasting to thin, smooth plane of his lover’s. He’d held hands with people before, but this was different. He couldn’t remember it ever feeling like this before. He tightened his grip. Davey squeezed back, a breathy chuckle following.

Eyes closed, heart racing, he leant in.

Their lips barely touched, a hint of a kiss. It occurred to Jack that he’d never actually wanted to kiss someone so badly, his nerves taking the lead. He couldn’t make himself move, press any closer, in case he broke whatever spell they were under. He relished the flutter of Davey’s lips, like a butterfly’s wing against his own.

Davey swallowed hard, enough for Jack to hear. He thought he was going to pull away, break the kiss. Instead, Davey’s hesitancy suddenly faded and he pulled Jack closer to himself by the jaw, kissing him for real.

Kissing Davey was like coming home. His lips were warm and real, smooth and glossy. The taste of broth and bread lingered, combining with something sweet and raw that Jack could only imagine was the taste of Davey. The feeling was intoxicating. He turned his head, pressing closer again. It was the best first kiss of his life.

They exchanged some more drags of lips and teeth, enjoying the feeling of one another in way that Jack hoped would become a regular occurrence. It was only as the sun had finally set, and the night sky had broken through, that they parted. Davey dropped his hand from Jack’s face. They locked eyes, taking in the moment. Their hands stayed laced together.

Jack was the first to speak.

“So, is we datin’ now or what?”

Davey grinned, “Only if you want to.”

“‘Course I do, Dave.”

“Good, because I’m not sure what I would’ve done if you said no.”

They laughed, Jack squeezed their clasped hands with his other. He felt settled and content, even with the tiredness from the day seeping through. The silence stretched out like a cat in front of a warm fire.

“Should we go and tell the fellas?” Jack asked, nudging Davey towards the fire escape with his knee.

“I suppose,” Davey nodded. He then patted Jack on the arm, his tone turning playfully bossy. “and then come back up here and get some rest.”

“Only if you’ll come too.”

“Always.”

They walked towards the fire escape. Two steps away, Jack pulled him in for another kiss. This one was fast and hard, urgent, searing. It made Davey weak in the knees and dizzy. Packed with his signature brash charm and confidence, it was exactly the type of kiss he expected from Jack.

“Love ya, Davey.”

“Love you too, Jackie.”

And the words were repeated the next morning at dawn, when they were pulled into the day by the rising of the sun. Curled up in Jack’s arms, his face pressed to Jack’s neck, he knew that he had found his home. With Jack, this was all that there would be, but it didn’t bother him. Having this with Jack was a gift, in and of itself. Anything else he got was just the icing on the cake. But it was this intimacy, the closeness of two people who didn’t need anything more than what that had found together, not sex, that was the very thing that made life worth the living.

He was never letting Jack go.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I put WAY more work into this than I intended. It was supposed to be 1500 words. The best laid plans, am I right?
> 
> Anyway, I researched WAY TOO MUCH, so this fic is actually as close to the real June 21st 1900 as I can get it. If you’re interested, here’s all the little details from my pursuit of Historical Accuracy:  
> 1\. The sun rise is at the right time (it rose at 4:25 am)  
> 2\. The sun set is too, (7:30)  
> 3\. The headline is the actual headline from The World on that day!  
> 4\. The food is what they would have eaten.  
> 5\. The political events talked about are what actually happened!  
> and  
> 6\. The terms and slang that would have been used at the time to describe being gay or ace (turns out, neither had slang at the time, but both terms existed!)
> 
> I know no one cares about that except me, but dammit! I had fun.
> 
> Comment, kudos, I might do some more asexual Newsies in the future, we’ll see.


End file.
